Tales of the Sin Eaters
by queenofthelab23
Summary: They say having a child changes every aspect of who you are, what you are, and what you do. Aaron and Marta had no idea it would lead to somewhere so painful that they'd welcome death. Aaron/Marta. Continuation of Radical Violence and Other Fairytales. Last in the trilogy. Now complete
1. Chapter 1

Hello :) this is just a little taster session of the last in our triplet fic trilogy here. I'll let you know now that I did kind of rip a little bit of Doctor Who in there (I'm British, it's practically mandatory) but I think it works so well for Aaron in this prologue. The ride towards this scene is going to be written soon but for now, have a read and I hope you don't hate me too much.

Please read and review :)

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Prologue

There's so much blood. Blood everywhere. He's drowning in blood.

As he slumps against a cold, cool white wall, Aaron looks back over the last year of his life and wonders where it all went wrong. How could something as innocent as a sweet, tender kiss have led him to this path strewn with bodies? He'd called her a warrior so many times, he thought of her as unbreakable but now… Nearly a year since that positive test had passed and Aaron's sure it'd been a ticking time bomb in disguise, sent to set them for a showdown they weren't ever ready for. He fought so hard to keep it all from falling apart, losing so much along the way and now it was over. It feels over. He isn't sure how much longer he's got left, after all. Marta told him once that the brain goes into hypersensitivity when you die. He smells iron and sees bright white and dashed red in handprints along the wall in front. He hears screams and cries. He tastes metal and gunpowder. He's looking at death again.

Aaron blinks. He remembers his son's cries and they wrench his heart into torn shards for all the memories. All Aaron and his baby boy needed was her and now… now there's no way back along that dead path, the roses wilting as he walks it. He fought for so long and so hard, it'd be easy to close his eyes and let the pain stop. He wants to let the pain stop and rest. Aaron's always been a dreamer.

Byer stands in front of him. He's wounded deeply in the thigh and Aaron hopes the man dies and burns in hell for his sins and for Aaron's sins too. It's all come down to him and his arrogance, his cruelty and unrelenting torture. Fuck Byer.

"I hope you realise, Agent Cross." Byer says shakily, spitting the words with all the fury he has. "You're the reason she's dead. You're the reason this happened. You set it in motion."

Aaron musters what strength he's got left and stands on his heavy clunking feet, clenching a fist around his last weapon. "If there's one thing I believed in, even just…" he grunts, "Just one thing. I believed in her."

Aaron feels his strength wane as he twists a shard of glass into Byer's thigh. He looks up and sees her. His angel of death sent to sing him down to hell where he belongs. His clock's done ticking. Going out with a cliché.

Yeah. When he looks back on it, he knows. _Former _Agent Aaron Cross had known all along. It's all been doomed to failure and they paid the high price for his sins.

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A/N: If you like Anchored, the next chapter will be up at the weekend. For now, let the speculation begin


	2. Chapter 2

Hello :D the response to the (admittedly nightmarish) prologue was amazing! Thank you all so much! :D I'm a little worried about how people are receiving this fic but I hope most people are liking it and I promise, promise that while the prologue will be played out in a future chapter, there's a lot to be explained too. Don't give up on me!

Please, please review. Honestly, I love every single one of you for doing so; any writer on here will tell you the same. I hope you all like the way I went with this chapter and think of it as a reprieve before we get into the grittier stuff

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1

_There was a little boy, once upon a time. All the other people who towered above him called him 'special' but he never knew what they really meant. In his head, special meant that he was Superman and that's how he felt, how he dreamt of being. Junie, the only nice lady he knew, used to read to him from ratty old comic books with the edges worn so thin you could see your fingers through them on a bright day. He heard tales of good guys and bad guys and he drew pictures of men in capes and Junie stuck them to the ceiling of his secret hiding place. This little boy, dumped on the doorstep, wanted to fly away and save people. He wanted to be bright and brave and bold and brilliant. Yeah, that's what he wanted. He wanted to save the world in secret. He wanted to make them stop hitting him when he said the wrong answers to questions he didn't understand. Make the bad go away._

_But as the little boy grew older, he grew colder too. Junie left and got married and had a baby and stopped visiting. He wanted to find a girl who loved him like Lois loved Clark and loved Superman too, but he couldn't find one. He wanted to be an adventurer but he had no-one to go with him to hold his hand. He wanted a home. One day, the not-so-little boy saw a man in green camouflage, with dog tags swinging around his neck like a cape and wondered who this man was, walking so confidently down the street. The not-so-little boy watched in the sun as the man in green and brown grinned wider than anyone he'd ever seen before. Why did no-one grin at him like that? He saw the man – the giant – pick up a beautiful lady (even more beautiful than Junie used to be) and twirl her around. The man's big arms wrapped around the lady tight, tighter than the not-so-little boy had ever seen anyone hold anyone else before. Lois loved Clark but it was Superman who swept her off her feet and made her smile. The not-so-little boy smiled too, a little sadly, and wondered who this hero was. How could the not-so-little boy be a hero too, the hero he'd always dreamt of, stuck to his ceiling? The hero and the lady kissed and kissed and kept on kissing until their hands wrapped together like there was glue between them. Maybe the not-so-little boy wasn't a hero yet but he could be._

"_Miss Marie!" he ran through to the kitchen, "Who's that man out there? Is he a hero?"_

_The old lady just chuckled as she looked through the window at the couple walking down the street, hand in hand, "He's a kind of hero. That's Captain Jameson. He's just come back from fighting for our country in the army and the pretty lady is his wife."_

_The not-so-little boy stared open mouthed at the love down the street. Maybe if he became a hero one day, he could find a pretty girl to love him too. "What does he do in the army, Miss Marie?"_

"_He's a soldier." She said, going back to washing dishes. "You can't join the army until you're 18 and you have to pass a lot of tests. You don't do so well on tests, remember?"_

_He nodded, his face fell a little but he smiled too, smiled so confidently, "I can do better, Miss Marie. I know I'm special enough to be better. Junie always used to say that I was special."_

"_You've got 5 more years, Kenny. Best you get to reading your books the teacher gave you."_

"_Yes mam." He nodded furiously and ran up to his room at the speed of light, flying up the flights of stairs. The not-so-little boy knew what he wanted to be. He wanted to be a hero and find a pretty lady to love him like Captain Jameson and his wife. He wanted to be a soldier. He wanted to be brave and bold and bright and brilliant. He wanted love._

"Well, did he get what he wanted?" she asks him quietly as the dusk settles, his hands cradling her big stomach like he had the baby in his arms already. Aaron told Marta everything over the last eight months. He told her about the boy and the man he used to be. He told her about Junie and Miss Marie and how the army didn't make him feel like a hero, but she does.

"I think he's got what he wanted." Aaron kisses her neck tenderly where they're sitting on the beach, her sitting between his open legs, "Now I'm going to get what you want."

"What do I want?" she yawns a little, eyes heavy-lidded and warm on his. She doesn't even think of looking at the sunset, only at him. "Aaron?"

He chuckles and sweeps her hair out of her lips, "You want this baby safe, healthy, happy, you want me happy too." He presses a kiss to her lips, "Because you're unselfish. I could never be like that, Doc." Aaron caresses her stomach, "He won't be long now."

"The midwife on the next island says a week and I hope she's right." Marta chuckles and leans back deeper into him, "This kid's driving me insane already."

"It's what kids do, isn't it?" he chuckles, "They make sure you never forget about them."

"I don't think June Monroe forgot about you, Aaron. I think she's never forgotten about you. Sometimes it's just hard to admit when you don't want to go back to the life you had, no matter how much good there was in it." She's told him about her family; about how sad she was they were probably never going to meet her child and how their child would have no grandparents.

Aaron kisses her softly, "Let's get you to bed; you're getting too big for me to carry the last couple months."

"Asshole." She chuckles and he helps her onto her feet. "I am not fat…" she grunts as she straightens, "It's all your fault anyway."

"Oh sure, women always blame the men." He smirks and wraps her hand in his like they're glued together. "You're the one who injected me with the green viral, so it's your fault."

"Asshole." She smirks.

* * *

Six days later – after all, Marta's the kind of person who did things before somebody asks her to – he's holding a tiny bundle in his arms, a bundle wrapped in soft cottons and wool for warmth. Marta's exhausted but strong and so is their baby boy, snuggling into Aaron's chest at barely an hour old. The midwife has to be the second strongest woman Aaron has ever known and gladly accepts payment of one chicken for her trouble. For all they've been through, for all the bullets and hell and her crushing the bones in his hand during labour, it's worth it to look into his son's scrunched up face and forget about his fears. They don't matter, not really. He's vowed to keep them safe and it'll take it to his last breath if it means he keeps his promise. "Aaron?"

"No, not after me." He says, sitting on a chair next to the bed at the midwife's house: she'd insisted it was better for Marta and Aaron knew to trust her. "He deserves his own name. A brand new one."

"What did you have in mind then?" she sits up as much as she can and strokes their son's dark, dark hair.

"He looks like you." Aaron smiles across at her, just watching her is beautiful. "He's all dark hair and wobbling bottom lip."

"You kidding?" she smirks softly and lays her head on Aaron's shoulder. "He's all you, Cross. Look at those strong hands, his nose, his chin…" she yawns widely, her weight falling onto his side. Marta closes her heavy eyes and Aaron manoeuvres her to the pillow as she falls asleep. He's used to holding precious cargo with one strong arm.

"Sleep, Doc." He mutters under his breath and gets up, bouncing the baby back to sleep. "I don't know what your name is yet, little man, but I know I am going to read so many comic books to you, you'll want to fly like I did. Daddy's going to make it happen, you watch."

The baby gurgles a little.

"Oh that's just Mommy. You took a lot out of her today but she'll wake up soon and want to hold you. I might not let her." Aaron chuckles. The little boy's breaths become steady as he falls asleep to Aaron's heartbeat. Aaron mutters softly in Russian, "мой сын моя любовь моя все." _My son, my love, my all._

* * *

On the day Jackson was born, a crying bouncing bundle, Aaron promised him that he would tear the world apart to keep him and Marta safe. As he looks at the devastation around him in fear and dead shock, something breaks and twists into anger inside him. Red hot burning anger, the like of which no-one has ever or will ever see. They've taken his boy and baited the trap he'd willing walk into as an oncoming storm. He'd fought and fought against fifty, sixty, seventy of them, so had she, and now there's thick blood streaming down the back of her head, just about breathing. Aaron fell to his knees next to her, feeling for a pulse though he knew her heart would be broken when she woke. He had been so blinded by love that he forgot how to hate the chain around his ankles that kept him rooted to a rotting stump of an organisation. With bloodied fingers, Aaron rips the comms device from the head of a dead agent, one of the lucky few who was granted a quick death by a bullet in the skull and not a slow agonising end, and speaks into the microphone. He knows Byer can hear him but even Aaron doesn't recognise his own voice; so tainted by the pure anger and hatred fuelling him.

"I will not stop until my son is back in his mother's arms safely. I will kill your family and I will torture you and everyone you know and love until you beg me to send you all to hell where you belong. You brought my son into a world of pain, ripped him from his crib, and pain is what I will give to you. This is not a warning, Byer. Oh no. This is me keeping a promise to my son." He snaps the microphone in half as if it were a stick and goes back to Marta. He'd broken his promise to her but he'd be damned if it was going to be two in a row. Marta the brave and beautiful, the kind and caring, the unselfish and the scientist who he had made into a fearless warrior, putting all she had left to give to keep Jackson safe…

If they had awoken the trained monster in him, what the hell is going to awake in her?

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A/N: Please review and I'll give you cookies! :D

A/N 2: What did you think of the trip into Aaron's past?


	3. Chapter 3

So I was reading my old poetry notes and came across Percy Shelley's Ozymandias. It's repeated at the bottom of this fic and I think it's the one that's stayed with me the longest time and it's inspired this chapter about sins and penances. I love poetry so much.

Thanks to everyone who's read this fic and thought it was good. There's only one chapter left in these trilogies and we have to let things get worse before they get better... IF they get better. Please keep reviewing.

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2

Amongst the shadows of his past, the sin eater Aaron falls to his knees next to her. She's strong but even warriors bleed through cracks and fall down dead in times of war. He could have prepared her for nearly anything; except this. His own anger still twists his gut around and around, manifesting into a seething hatred for one man, for one organisation, one government that led him to their destruction instead of his. Aaron's a dead man walking already, what's another bullet in his head if it gets him his son and Marta safe? He feels her stirring, fingers twitching like crawling through glass; he knows the way too well. He gets up and grabs the wash basin, filling it full of cold water from their supply and comes back over to her, wiping down the blood that's congealing at the base of her head and down her neck. He's not going anywhere until he knows she's safe. It's his fault and his responsibility to put right, but he needs to know she'll be alive when he sends Jackson back to her. It's priority number one. Outcome wants him dead in their hands in exchange for his son? No brain needed, no thought required; as long as she was there to raise their boy, he'd die a happy man.

She groans a little under the wash cloth, her breathing getting quicker. Oh god. He almost wants her to forget, to have amnesia or some shit, just _anything_ to escape what's coming. Marta. She's going to hate him, scream, cry, punch him… he has no idea how to handle a hysterical woman. He's planned so much of their lives out in his head. There was something he'd been meaning to do but that dream's over. Survival is their only goal. "Marta?" he mutters as she pushes herself over, "Marta can you hear me?" he looks down at her, his eyes quickly scanning her for any other signs of injury. God forbid.

"Too loud." She rubs her temple. "Why are we still here?" she groans as she tries to stand on shaking feet. "We need to get Jackson. Where's the guns?" she keeps a hand on the side of the wall, "Aaron, where's the fucking guns?"

"Marta…" he grunts and loops her arm over his shoulders as she starts to go down again, "You've got a head injury. You're not going anywhere."

"Oh like hell I'm not." She shoves him and reaches under a loose floorboard, kicking another dead agent out of the way. She'd have cringed at that a little while ago, he's sure. "My son isn't here. I am _not_ letting him go."

He shakes his head and takes the sniper rifle from her hand as she pulls it out, "Stop it, you'll get yourself hurt even worse." He grunts, sitting her down on a chair. "I am not losing both of you in one day, Marta."

"You do not make that choice for me." She snatches the rifle back. He looks at her and sees nothing but fire in her eyes, revenge fuelling her desires. Aaron closes his eyes and pulls out handguns and ammo, everything they've stock piled crashing to the wooden floor.

"Pack the bag. We're going to meet a man who can help." He pulls out maps and new passports, plus what was left of their money. She gets up and reaches for the backpack, pulling it open and packing the canned food, energy bars, anything they needed. They're both old hands at this now, grabbing what they needed to get the job done and getting out of a place. Only, this time more's at stake.

"Who are we meeting?" she asks, grabbing all of the medical equipment she could fit in.

"Emergencies only. Extreme emergencies." He cocks a gun, "I'd say this is as extreme as it gets, Doc."

"Don't forget Jackson's bunny." She points to the crib in the corner, zipping up the backpack.

Aaron turns his head and looks at the empty wooden crib he'd made himself. It's too empty for words. He bends down and picks up the stuffed toy rabbit from inside, the one they'd given to him when Jackson was firstborn. He's not even old enough to miss it but he should have it, he should have something familiar, of home. It could be the only thing that keeps Aaron going because he's got this sinking feeling in his stomach that they're_ both_ walking to their deaths a long way away.

* * *

Aaron and Marta grab whatever they can scrounge and head for the mainland in their rickety boat, Marta still trying not to throw up from her head wound and Aaron still worried in the pit of his stomach. He pickpockets a phone and drags her down a back alley he'd memorised well, away from tourists, "Marta," he says quickly, shoving a gun down the back of her jeans, "You need to go and get us a car. Steal it, find one with the keys in, target a dumb tourist and meet me in eight minutes on the dock." He presses a kiss to her lips, a desperate, last chance kiss. "Go."

"But-" she's so pale.

"Go." He almost yells, his anger seeping out at the seems like stuffing. She closes her eyes for a second, running off to complete her mission. If she wants to be a warrior, wants to be a woman for the ages, the fighter, this is her chance to prove it. Every action has a cost. Every chance has a risk. Every moment means another second off a life. Aaron pulls out the stolen phone and walks in the opposite direction, away from Marta. "Alpha Charlie 22705. I'm calling it in; you owe me, _Captain_." He murmurs, running swiftly along the back streets towards the docks, "They took my son, I need money and a back-up plan. There's only one way out of this one and it's not a return ticket."

"Where are you?" a gruff voice on the other end of the line grumbled. Aaron knows he's desperate to do this but if he had any chance, it's Captain Jameson.

"Heading for Base Line 4. ETA 1 hour, 45 minutes."

The man sighs, "I can make it in 2. Hide out, use the cache on magpie. It's enough to keep you safe until I get there. This is the end of it, okay?" Aaron catches sight of the police and turns, "No more help."

"I'll take what I can get, Captain." He shuts the phone off and tosses it out, down a drain. It's a hell of a sacrifice to make.

* * *

"Where is this place?" she asks; her voice is shaky and quiet. The past two hours, she'd been getting worse and worse. Her skin's still pale and getting paler as he looks at her. She'd vomited twice and he'd had to carry her since they docked. How she managed to get them a car in her condition by her sheer force of will was a fucking miracle. There was no way she'd be able to make it back to America in her condition. Fuck. He'd have to go to back up.

"It's uncharted, purposefully. It's fully equipped. All the agents put something in when they could: ammo, tech, guns, maps, money. We call it Base Line 4, the magpie cache, for extreme emergencies only." Aaron pants as he carries her up to the base, the building buried in the verdant green landscape so just a grey steel door is showing, "Hold on." He scans in his thumbprint into a scanner and hauls her back up to his chest, "There's also med equipment." He smiles and sets her down on the cot inside the building. "We also had a cache in Alaska, but they knew about that one and blew it-" he looks down, her eyes closed, "No, no, no, Marta, wake the fuck up, MARTA!" he taps her cheek with his palm. "Don't fall asleep yet, come on." Her eyes drag open and he breathes, "Just a little while longer, Doc, can you do that?"

She mutters, trying to sit up, "I have a concussion. Have to stay awake."

"There's someone coming to help you." He gets up and scans his thumb print into another door, the steel plate clicking open, "Stay awake." He stares at her, leaving Marta on the cot and goes into the belly of the beast. Aaron sighs as he walks up to the wall of computers and laptops, turning one on and positioning the camera. If he's going to walk into Washington, placing the noose around his neck, he has to give her something to remember him by.

* * *

Aaron comes out of the store and sees her prepping a needle, "What are you doing?" he asks, "Marta?" He dumps his tech on the floor.

"It's morphine. I'm coming with you." She pulls the cord around her arm tightly and taps the crook of her elbow, sticking the needle in and depressing the plunger.

He sighs, crouching down on the floor and going through inventory. "You're not coming, Marta. This isn't a negotiation. I'm just not letting you do it."

"Don't give a shit about my health, Cross. They have my… my baby…" she frowns, "This… this isn't morphine, is it?" she pants quicker, "What the fuck did you do?!"

"It's not morphine." He bows his head. He has to do this. Get through it Aaron, make her safe. He can still save something. "It's a sedative and a paralytic." He looks at her and it kills him that there are tears streaming down her sunken cheeks. He's the one who's broken her after all. "I couldn't take the chance, Marta, I know, I'm sorry. Actually, you know, I'm not sorry. I love you and this is what I'm doing to make sure you have Jackson and a good life. There's no plan. I'm walking in there like they want me to, on the condition that they give up Jackson to you and let you live alone with him. I have a friend coming. He's… he owes me, put it like that. He'll make sure you're safe." He cradles her cheek and presses a kiss to her forehead.

"You… bastard." She chokes back tears as her body starts to go limp. "When I get out of this place, you'll wish it's just the government who wants your balls." She looks into his eyes and it kills him all over again. "I love you!"

"I know. That's why I'm doing this." He strokes her tears away, "If I have to say this one more time, Marta Shearing… God…" he looks down and then back to her, "It's all been worth it. Every single bullet, every second, to spend it with you." He kisses her as her eyes close slowly. "Goodbye." He stands up and looks at her one last time. If he's walking to his death, like he's always been walking towards, he's glad he found a beautiful woman to love him, a family and a home.

But all empires must fall.

_I met a traveller from an antique land_

_Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone_

_Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,_

_Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,_

_And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,_

_Tell that its sculptor well those passions read_

_Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,_

_The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:_

_And on the pedestal these words appear:_

_"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:_

_Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"_

_Nothing beside remains. Round the decay_

_Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare_

_The lone and level sands stretch far away._

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AN: I'll be taking any requests for Aaron/Marta fics soon, so if you have an idea, pop it into me and I'll see if I can write something :)


	4. Chapter 4

So I should explain why this was delayed: Sunday night/Monday morning (after I posted Anchored chapter 14) I had to go into A+E at my local hospital in agony from abdominal pain, nausea, vomiting. Fast forward about 9 hours and I finally get told I have the beginnings of pancreatitis, cholecystitis and gallstones but they can't do anything for 4 weeks or so because it's only just beginning. So I go home and the painkillers and antibiotics they give me completely knock me out of all consciousness (seriously). It's now Thursday at 3.35pm and I haven't had a painkiller in nearly over 24 hours; I'm achy like someone's kicked my ribs in but I'm alright mostly and have kept my food down.

Apologies for the long long delay for this then. It should've been up days ago but I was otherwise indisposed.

This is the last chapter in the last of the trilogies of these fics. I'm not doing a sequel or an outtake, so if you want to review and help me heal quicker please do so. :) I know the last chapter got a few reviews but I hope this one satisfies everybody.

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3

A good man goes to war and his life is left behind.

Aaron knows he can't trust Byer or anyone, save for Marta, with anything; let alone the precious cargo of his son. Aaron's not an idiot anymore. That lost little boy who wanted to be Superman became the evil he's meant to be fighting instead but he can do some good in the world before it all gets blown to smithereens. Getting into America had been too easy to do; fake passports were simple to make, money from pickpocketing and what was left of his stash made up for the rest. Aaron keeps his head down as the plane touches down in Virginia, his baseball cap trained on the ground for the most part. He's got a plan and he's going to stick to it. He smiles brightly at passport control, looking up into the camera behind the pretty blonde girl whose eyes remind him too much of Marta's. He'd had to leave Marta behind so she could be safe. The less Aaron knew about where she was or what she was doing, the better.

"You get up." She groaned next to him on the little bed of old couch cushions. "It's your turn."

"You're the one with the things he wants." Aaron had muttered, rubbing his sleep deprived eyes. "He'll just be disappointed if it's me."

Marta sat up from the sleeping bag and padded over to the crib covered with netting. "Daddy's an ass, Jackson." She had muttered, scooping the baby into her arms. He stopped crying almost instantly, "See? He agrees with me." She pulled up her vest top and started to feed the baby, sitting on a chair and rocking back and forth, "This is harder than getting away from Outcome, you know."

"Worth it." He grinned from his position on the floor, head resting on his hand, "The kid just knows what he wants and takes it."

"Like you, you mean?" The moonlight streamed through the window and illuminated her. He blinked and saw her beauty.

"I'm glad I stole you, Marta." He groaned and slid onto his back again, still looking at her. "It was easier than cutting off one of your fingers for scanners."

She laughed. "Like you'd ever do that."

Aaron closed his eyes, exhausted, "Remind me to tell you some stories one day…"

Aaron's got a stop to make first and there's only one way he's getting there now. Jump off the high dive. He looks into the camera again and twists around as sirens go off, men coming out of doorways. "Sorry about this." He twists the wrist of the pretty blonde, her ruby painted lips crying out in pain. Aaron grabs his fake passport before it hits the desk. He jumps over the desks, landing heavily on his feet and stays behind the shields.

"This is the FBI, stop and put your hands up." One of the men in black grabs Aaron's arm as he jumps back from behind the barriers but Aaron's too quick and flips the guy over, grabbing the handgun from his holster.

"Thanks bud. Needed this." He runs forward, jumping onto the rim of an escalator and bolting down, trying to keep his balance. Aaron fires back as they shoot at him, the sparks igniting amongst shouts of other passengers. He grunts as he jumps to the ground and takes off at a run, rounding a corner, the blood pumping in his ears like battery acid. The intense pain he feels as a bullet grazes his left hip makes his step falter but Aaron won't ever stop; he can't afford to stop. Aaron has a mission to complete as a good man goes to war. Aaron wades into a crowd and grabs another guy's hat with deft fingers, shrugging off the black leather jacket he's wearing and dumping it and the empty gun into a trash can. Aaron slows down his pace; the adrenaline surge wearing off, his hip starting to sting with controlled pain. He rolls down the sleeves of his shirt and clips a tie into his collar, having pulled it from his jeans pocket. He smirks as the officers dash around, apparently having lost Aaron somewhere in the crowd of hundreds milling with suitcases. Aaron looks around and takes a few deep breaths, slipping into the bathroom. Coldness floods over him.

"Agent Cross." Aaron stops dead as he hears the voice in front of him, the man waiting for him. It's a trap. "I think this game is over now, don't you?" Byer says calmly, hands in his pockets.

"How?" Aaron doesn't move, his jaw set in stone with anger.

"We trained you, remember?" The agents behind Byer immediately surround Aaron and cuff him. "Can't kid a kidder."

* * *

"Where is Marta Shearing?" Byer asks. It's all he asks, all he's asked for the last four hours but Aaron's a patient broken man. Good men go to war.

"Cocomo. She takes it fast. I take it slow." Aaron smirks, feet up on the metal table. The room's bright white and empty apart from the table and two chairs opposite each other. "Or Bermuda. Bahamas?"

Byer doesn't flinch. "Where is Marta Shearing?" he asks again, completely unrelenting and cold. Fuck Byer.

Aaron's nostrils flare a little, "So, you got a good babysitter in this place? Does the government fund your child snatching habits?"

"You'd be surprised." Byer reaches into his pockets and Aaron's on high alert.

"Nothing you people do surprises me. I've seen too much." Aaron watches as Byer pulls out photos of Jackson in a metal crib. "We are the sin eaters." Aaron sneers and repeats Byer's words back to him, bringing the black bile to the surface, stubbornly refusing to look at the photographs. "It was always bullshit. Why should I be surprised, though? It's all governments do. Kill the poor to feed the wealthy, right?"

"Your son is being looked after. We aren't monsters."

"Yes." Aaron slams his feet back to the ground. "You are monsters. You are the things people should fear, the things people shouldn't trust their country with."

"Where is Marta Shearing?"

Aaron shakes his head, getting too angry. "No idea. She left me for some swarthy guy called Mike or James or Tony or Luke or-"

"Do you know where Marta Shearing is?" The corner of Byer's lips quirk up. "Because we do."

Ice water cascades down Aaron's spine and he sits up straight. "Liar."

"We know where she is, Agent Cross." He motions to the camera and two men in black bring in a laptop. "Because she's here." Aaron doesn't say a word. They're lying. She's not that good. "She came in about an hour after you did, actually. Spouting the same bullshit you are. You people are all the same, Cross. You kill and we have to clean up the mess you leave behind."

"No." Aaron looks up at Byer as the men in black leave, Byer locking the door behind them. "No, you're the ones who leave a mess behind. You trained us to kill and that's what we become. We are killers, we are sin eaters, we are the moral scum on the top of hell's entry list but you know what, Byer? You're the one who built us."

Byer chuckles, "Nice speech." He hits a button the laptop and Aaron sees a colour video stream of Marta in a room identical to his. She looks small, tiny, and cold. There are cuts on her arms and her wrists are bound. They bound her wrists but took off Aaron's cuffs? "Want to listen in?" Byer smirks and taps another key on the laptop, sound coming on and filling the empty white space.

Marta's eyes dash around the room. She's shivering slightly and the agent in the room with her drapes a jacket around her arms. "Thank you." She rubs a few fingers under her eyes, the cuffs clinking.

"It's no problem Dr Shearing. We just want to help you." Vosen smiles sickeningly, "We're getting your boy back to you. Just tell us everything you know about Aaron Cross and we can help you."

She shakes her head, "Doesn't work like that."

"I think you'll find it does, Doctor." He puts a heavy gun on the table between them, his hand on top of it, "You have information you're not telling us. If you don't share it with us, we will kill you, we will kill your son and we will kill Agent Cross."

Her head snaps up, "You'll never be able to kill him. You people made me into Frankenstein; I'm not doing a damn thing you say." He's so proud of her. "If you kill our son, he's not going to stop until everything is burnt to the ground at your feet."

Vosen sighs, "Well, we could always test that theory. I could shoot you." He pulls the gun up and aims at Marta's head. Aaron panics. Why does she have to be here? She couldn't leave it alone. "You want to die?"

She shakes her head shivering, "Please, please, no, don't kill me. Please, I don't want to die!"

Vosen smirks and puts the gun back into his holster. "I didn't think so, Doctor." He reaches out and grabs her around the throat hard, twisting her jaw and head back. Aaron's used that hold before. "There's other ways we can get you to talk. You're more useful alive than dead. Well… half alive, anyway." He grabs a knife and stabs it into her shoulder, twisting it as she screams out. Aaron grips his fist under the table. "Now, Dr Shearing, tell us about Aaron Cross."

Aaron stands up, baring his fists, "You leave her the fuck alone. You know I'll tell you everything when Marta and Jackson are safe: not a second before."

"I suggest you sit down, Agent." Byer says calmly, "You know the U.S Government's policy is not to negotiate with terrorists and you're a terrorist so we're not negotiating."

On the laptop, Marta whimpers as the blade is pulled out. "Fine. I'll tell you. Just promise me my son will be safe."

Vosen sits on the table in front of her. "We promise, Doctor. We aren't monsters."

She holds a hand to her bloodied shoulder, beckoning Vosen to come closer. No. Aaron can't believe it. No, Marta. Don't tell them. They're liars, all of them.

She breathes heavily. "Aaron Cross is Keyser Soze." She looks up at Vosen and laughs as he puts a gun to her head. "Did I have you going?" she keeps laughing, "Oh please don't kill me, Mr Agent man; I'll be such a good little informant." Marta presses her forehead into the gun, her eyes hardened and cold. "I am not your flying monkey anymore." She looks into the camera, "Neither of us is."

Byer growls and stands up, walking over to Aaron, his fist bared. Aaron tries not to sigh in relief and starts laughing instead. "You can't break us, Byer."

"Like hell I can't, I control the whole damn thing. I can kill her! She'll be cursing the day she met you."

Aaron looks to the laptop where Marta is still laughing and Vosen looks confused. "Doesn't look like it to me. Does it to you?" Aaron swings out and punches Byer as Marta kicks the table from under Vosen, his gun firing in the room.

Aaron unclips Byer's belt and whips it off, wrapping it around the man's throat, one knee on his back. "Tell me where my son is." Aaron pulls tighter as Byer struggles. They can see Marta on the laptop, fighting Vosen with all she's got, trying to wrestle the gun out from him.

"No." Byer chokes out. Aaron knees him harder, slamming his head against the metal table with a sickening crack.

"Tell me where my son-"

Two gunshots go off on the laptop screen and Aaron sees Marta clutching her thigh, blood spurting all down her leg as she slumps to the floor, lifeless. Vosen is dead on the ground. "I think, Agent Cross." Byer spits out, "That's game over, don't you? We both know that's a kill shot." Byer swipes the laptop off the table, sending it crashing to the ground like his skull had on the table and Aaron's world is devastated. Byer's got the upper hand now.

"Can't bullshit a bullshitter, Eric." Aaron grunts and grabs a shattered edge of the broken laptop in his hand. "We've survived worse than you."

"Not forever." Byer punches Aaron and pulls a switchblade from his pocket, baring it as a weapon as agents try to break in through the door. "There's no white picket fence, Cross! You can't keep the people you love safe from the world. You knew that from the second you begged us to stay here." Byer lunges for Aaron's arm; he dodges but the knife scrapes along his flesh, pouring like a waterfall down his arm. Aaron punches Byer's face black and blue, stabbing the man in the thigh with the makeshift weapon forged from his own destruction. Aaron's got nothing left to lose. The world is angry and red, tinged with the failed promises to Marta and his son. Aaron's got Byer on the floor and punches him mercilessly, kicking the man in the ribs over and over again, sticking his fingers in Byer's wound and poking the nerve, relishing every crack and cry of pain from Byer's broken and bleeding lips. It's recompense for all the hurt Aaron's brought to poor Marta and the other people he's killed. Byer grunts and groans, managing to thrust his switchblade up into Aaron's arm, severing something.

Aaron cries out in pain and stumbles back onto the white wall, the blood on his bruised hand making a handprint smeared across the stark white. Byer's stabbed him too deep. Aaron's going to bleed out in three minutes. Marta's dead. He saw her die. He saw her leg ripped open by a bullet. He saw her eyes dull and her body slump to the floor. He remembers too much blood.

_There's so much blood. Blood everywhere. He's drowning in blood._

Byer gets up from the floor, the pocketknife loose in his shaking palm, his thigh ripped open by Aaron's hand. He smirks.

_As Aaron slumps against a cold, cool white wall, he looks back over the last year of his life and wonders where it all went wrong._ He's dead._ How could something as innocent as a sweet, tender kiss have led him to this path strewn with bodies? He'd called her a warrior so many times, he thought of her as unbreakable but now… Nearly a year since that positive test had passed and Aaron's sure it'd been a ticking time bomb in disguise, sent to set them for a showdown they weren't ever ready for. He fought so hard to keep it all from falling apart, losing so much along the way and now it was over. It felt over. He isn't sure how much longer he's got left, after all. _Who's counting? _Marta told him once that the brain goes into hypersensitivity when you die. He smells iron and sees bright white and dashed red in handprints along the wall in front. He hears screams and cries. He tastes metal and gunpowder. He's looking at death again._

_Aaron blinks. He remembers his son's cries_ Jackson_ and they wrench his heart into torn shards for all the memories. All Aaron and his baby boy needed was her and now… now there's no way back along that dead path, the roses wilting as he walks it. He fought for so long and so hard, it'd be easy to close his eyes and let the pain stop. He wants to let the pain stop and rest. Aaron's always been a dreamer._

_Byer stands in front of him. _Smirking. _He's wounded deeply in the thigh and Aaron hopes the man dies and burns in hell for his sins and for Aaron's sins too. It's all come down to him and his arrogance, his cruelty and unrelenting torture. Fuck Byer. _

"_I hope you realise, Agent Cross." Byer says shakily, spitting the words with all the fury he has. "You're the reason she's dead. You're the reason this happened. You set it in motion."_

He knows. _Aaron musters what strength he's got left and stands on his heavy clunking feet, clenching a fist around his last weapon. "If there's one thing I believed in, even just…" he grunts, "Just one thing. I believed in her."_

_Aaron feels his strength wane as he twists the shard of glass into Byer's thigh_ unrelenting_. He looks up and sees her. His angel of death sent to sing him down to hell where he belongs. His clock's done ticking. Going out with a cliché. _

_Yeah. When he looks back on it, he knows. Former Agent Aaron Cross had known all along. It's all been doomed to failure and they paid the high price._

* * *

"Aaron." A voice, soft and lyrical, calls to him. His eyes are closed. There should be more pain. "Aaron Cross, I need you to wake up." He knows that voice.

"Marta?" he mutters. His back is cold; he's on something steely. "I'm dead."

"You were for two minutes." He opens his eyes and looks around.

There's dead bodies everywhere. Men with bullets holes, slashed throats, some with injuries he couldn't see. "What happened?" he groans and looks to the stab wound on his arm, now wrapped tightly with a tourniquet made from his own shirt. "Ow."

"Don't poke it." He tries to concentrate on her face. "It'll last until we get out of here. There's not much time."

"You did it, didn't you?" his eyes focus. "You killed all these…"

"Yes." She nods, tilting her head, "I'm a mother. Nothing's going to stop me from getting my son back." Marta looks down to her thigh, patched up like his.

"But I saw you die." He groans and gets up, the overwhelming relief that she's alive hitting him like a freight train, "I watched you die."

"I was shot. You think that's going to keep me from getting back to you?" she chuckles and heaves him up, "Women lift busses off their kids to keep them safe. I…" she kisses his cheek, "…can cheat death."

_Marta grunts as she looks at her thigh. Femoral artery nicked; approximately ten minutes with flow rate. She pulls the tie from Vosen's dead body and wraps it around her bleeding thigh, gritting her teeth as the pain nearly makes her pass out. Nothing's going to stop her from Aaron and Jackson; no bullet or bomb or blast is going to make her think of her own health. She grunts in pain as she stockpiles all of Vosen's weapons into her pockets. She'd heard Aaron next door and needs to get to him quickly. Five agents outside his door, banging to try and get inside. She uses the wall to lift herself up and shoots two in the back of the head dead, immediately taking cover behind the metal door, having shot through the glass. _

_She takes out more and more, her only thought of redemption for lost lives settles on her getting Jackson safe. Aaron trained her to be a killing machine. Time to use it. She jumps out and fires into the neck of another agent, ducking as the final two try to shoot her dead. The knife in her hand, Vosen's knife, slashes across the throat of another, ripping it open. She fires into the head of another agent and slams into the locked door. _

_It won't budge. _

_She can see Byer standing over Aaron. Aaron's eyes were waning but she tries with all her strength to get him to see her standing there as he slams something sharp and shiny into Byer's thigh. Byer goes down like a tonne of bricks. Aaron's eyes lock with his and she pleads to the heavens as he slumps down to the ground, ignoring her own pain and feeling his instead. Marta runs back inside her holding cell and gets the metal chair, slamming it into the control panel on the wall next to the door. Come on. Spark the override. Come on!_

"You killed five agents?" Aaron mutters in disbelief, "You broke the security panels, which can't be done, and you saved both our lives with strips of cloth?"

She nods, quickening her pace to a run as more agents come up behind them, "Yup."

"I trained you to be better than me." Aaron smirks as they run into the bowels of the organisation. He looks at her and clutches her hand to his. "Family reunion?"

"ETA 5 minutes. We need to get to the roof. I called in a favour for you." She sounds more like Aaron than Aaron does.

"From who?"

"Captain Jameson." She grunts and helps him kick open a door to the roof, pulling him up, "He still owed you one after I kind of… hit him over the head and ran off with the fake passport and money you gave him." She has the decency to look bad about it.

They keep running up the stairs, "Marta, I called him to make sure you were safe while I got Jackson, you nearly blew the whole thing!"

"Oh I did not. I saved your life, Cross. Don't you forget it." She laughs softly and turns, shooting a few of the agents who were too close.

"Marry me, Marta Shearing." he grins and kisses her. He didn't have to wait for an answer. "How did Jameson get Jackson?" Aaron shouts over he whirr of the helicopter's blades slicing through the air.

Marta presses a soft kiss to his colder lips, muttering "Only you would tell me to marry you when we're trying to outrun a fucking government organisation." She helps Aaron across to the aircraft. "Outcome has a daycare programme; they hid him in plain sight. I gave Jameson some info and well... I could have told you that from the magpie bunker if you hadn't been idiotic and drugged me so I couldn't!"

He holds her arms in his hands. "Marta." The baby carrier safely strapped to the seat inside the copter. "We're always going to be outrunning them…" he sighs softly. "I know it's not a life but…"

She cuts him off with a soft kiss as they jump up into the helicopter with matching groans of pain, Jameson in the pilot seat. "I never needed a stable life, Cross. I need you; running or standing still."

She leans into his lips but gets cut off by a sharp cry from Jackson in his baby car seat. "I think he's hand enough excitement for one day, don't you?" Aaron slams the helicopter door shut as they start to take off.

Marta leans back against the seat, rocking the car seat a little; "Poor thing misses his bunny." She sighs, "I bet bad Daddy left it back at his super-secret bunker, didn't he?" she coos down to the baby. "Yes he did; bad Daddy."

Aaron looks over at Jackson, now four months old and looking more and more like her. Aaron sighs softly but happily. "So, how was your vacation, little man? Did they give you yummy milk? Was your crib too cold?" Jackson gurgles and smiles up at Aaron as he strokes the dark hair on his head. "Ahh, it's okay. We'll write a review on Trip Advisor. I'm sure they won't be bothering anyone else again." He smirks, pulling the hard drive from the laptop from his pocket. "I don't think they'll be doing anything again for a very long time."

A good man goes to war and is rescued by his wife.

* * *

A/N: Yes I borrowed from Doctor Who. Don't sue me. :) whether Marta, Aaron and Jackson really get away is up to you. I hope most people imagine them to be happy on their little island and that the hard drive is enough...

A/N2: Marta's changed a lot from where Aaron first met her, yes, but motherhood changes a person too. Combine the two together and you have a ruthless machine who's probably more deadly than Aaron (really, don't piss a mother off. It's the last breath you'll ever take)

A/N3: Dedicated to everyone who's enjoyed the ride. Please leave me a little review :) love to you all


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